Three Hundred A Year
THE CALL.
"HOW much salary do they offer?" asked Mrs. Carroll of her husband,
who was sitting near her with a letter in his hand. He had just
communicated the fact that a Parish was tendered him in the Village
of Y--, distant a little over a hundred and fifty miles.
"The money is your first thought, Edith," said Mr. Carroll, half
chidingly, yet with an affectionate smile.
This remark caused a slight flush to pass over the face of Mrs.
Carroll. She replied, glancing, as she did so, towards a bed on
which lay three children.
"Is it wrong to think of the little ones whom God has given to us?"
"Oh, no! But we must believe that God who calls us to labor in his
vineyard, will feed both us and our children."
"How are we to know that HE calls us, Edward?" inquired Mrs.
Carroll.
"I hold the evidence in my hand. This letter from the vestry of
Y--Parish contains the call."
"It may be only the call of man."
"Edith!--Edith!--Your faith is weak; weak almost as the expiring
flame."
"What do they say in that letter? Will you read it to me."
"Oh, yes." And Mr. Carroll read--
"REV. AND DEAR SIR:--Our Parish has been for some months without a
minister. On the recommendation of Bishop--, we have been led to
make you an offer of the vacant place. The members of the church,
generally, are in moderate circumstances, and we cannot, therefore,
offer anything more than a moderate living. There is a neat little
parsonage, to which is attached a small garden, for the use of the
minister. The salary is three hundred dollars. You will find the
people kind and intelligent, and likewise prepossessed in your
favor. The Bishop has spoken of you warmly. We should like to hear
from you as early as convenient.
"Very affectionately, &c. &c."
"Three hundred dollars!" said Mrs. Carroll in a disappointed tone.
"And the parsonage," added Mr. Carroll, quickly.
"Equivalent to sixty or seventy more."
"Equivalent to a hundred dollars more, at least."
"We are doing much better here, Edward."
"True! But are we to look to worldly advantage alone?"
"We have a duty to discharge to our children, which, it seems to me,
comes before all other duties."
"God will take care of these tender lambs, Edith, do not fear. He
has called me to preach his everlasting Gospel, and I have heard and
answered. Now He points to the field of labor, and shall I hold back
because the wages seem small? I have not so learned my duty. Though
lions stood in the way, I would walk in it with a fearless heart. Be
not afraid. The salvation of souls is a precious work, and they who
are called to the labor will not lack for bread."
"But Edward," said the wife, in a serious voice, "will it be right
for us to enter any path of life blindfold, as it were? God has
given us reason for a guide; and should we not be governed by its
plain dictate?"
"We must walk by faith, Edith, and not by sight," replied Mr.
Carroll, in a tone that indicated some small measure of impatience.
"A true faith, dear husband!" said Mrs. Carroll tenderly, while a
slight suffusion appeared about her eyes.
"A true faith is ever enlightened and guided by reason. When reason
plainly points the way, faith bids us walk on with unfaltering
steps."
"And does not reason now point the way?" asked Mr. Carroll."
"I think not. From our school we receive nearly seven hundred
dollars; and we have not found that sum too large for our support. I
know that I work very hard, and that I find it as much as I can do
to keep all things comfortable."
"But remember that we have rent to pay."
"I know. Still a little over five hundred dollars remain. And the
present offer is only three hundred. Edward, we cannot live upon
this sum. Think of our three children. And my health, you know, is
not good. I am not so strong as I was, and cannot go through as
much."
The wife's voice trembled.
"Poor, weak doubter!" said Mr. Carroll, in a tender, yet reproving
voice. "Does not He who calls us to this labor know our wants? And
is not He able to supply them? Have you forgotten that the earth is
the Lord's and the fullness thereof? Whose are the cattle upon a
thousand hills? Did not God feed Elijah by ravens? Did the widow's
oil fail? Be not doubtful but believing, Edith! And what if we do
have to meet a few hardships, and endure many privations? Are these
to be counted against the salvation of even one precious soul? The
harvest is great, hut the laborers are few."
Mrs. Carroll knew her husband well enough to be assured that if he
believed it to be his duty to accept a call from Lapland or the
Indian Ocean, he would go. Yet, so strongly did both reason and
feeling oppose the contemplated change, that she could not help
speaking out what was in her mind.
"The day of miracles is past," she replied.
"We must not expect God to send us bread from heaven if we go into a
wilderness, nor water from the rock, if we wander away to some
barren desert. This Parish of Y--cannot afford living to any but a
single man, and, therefore, it seems to me that none but a single
man should accept their call. Wait longer, Edward. We have every
comfort for our children, and you are engaged in a highly useful
employment. When the right field for ministerial labor offers, God
will call you in a manner so clear that you need not feel a doubt on
the subject."
"I feel no doubt now," said Mr. Carroll. "I recognise the voice of
my Master, and must obey. And I will obey without fear. Our bread
will be given and our water sure. Ah! Edith. If you could only see
with me, eye to eye. If you could only take up your cross hopefully,
and walk I by my side, how light would seem all the burden I have to
bear?"
Mrs. Carroll felt the words of her husband, as a rebuke. This
silenced all opposition.
"I know that I am weak and fearful," she murmured, leaning her head
upon her husband, and concealing her face. "But I will try to have
courage. If you feel it to be your duty to accept this call, I will
go with you; and, come what may, will not vex your ears by a
complaining word. It was only for our little ones that I felt
troubled."
"The Lord will provide, Edith. He never sends any one upon a journey
at his own cost. Fear not: we have the God of harvest on our side."
The will of Mr. Carroll decided in this, as in almost every thing
else. He saw reason to accept the call, and did not therefore,
perceive any force in his wife's objections.
The school, from which a comfortable living had been obtained, was
given up; an old home and old friends abandoned. Prompt as Mr.
Carroll had been to accept the call to Y--, the process of
breaking up did not take place without some natural feelings coming
in to disturb him. How he was to support his wife and children on
three hundred dollars, did not exactly appear. It had cost him,
annually, the sum of five hundred, exclusive of rent; and no one
could affirm that he had lived extravagantly. But he dismissed such
unpleasant thoughts by saying, mentally--
"Away with these sinful doubts! I will not be faithless, but
believing."
As for Mrs. Carroll, who felt, in view of the coming trials and
labor, that she had but little strength; the parting from the old
place where she had known so many happy hours, gave her deeper pain
than she had ever experienced. Strive as she would, she could not
keep up her spirits. She could not feel any assurance for the
future,--could not put her entire trust in Heaven. To her the
hopeful spirit of her husband seemed a blind confidence, and not a
rational faith. But, even while she felt thus, she condemned herself
for the feeling; and strove--with how little effect!--to walk
sustainingly by the side of her husband.
THE CHANGE.
Six months have elapsed since Mr Carroll accepted the call to Y--.
He has preached faithfully and labored diligently. That was his
part. And he has received, quarterly, on the day it became due, his
salary. That was according to the contract on the other side. His
conscience is clear on the score of duty; and his parishioners are
quite as well satisfied that they have done all that is required of
them. They offered him three hundred a year and the parsonage. He
accepted the offer; and, by that act, declared the living to be
adequate to his wants. If he was satisfied they were.
"I don't know how he gets along on three hundred dollars," some one,
more thoughtful about such matters, would occasionally say. "It
costs me double that sum, and my family is no larger than his."
"They get a great many presents," would, in all probability, be
replied to this. "Mr. A--, I know, sent them a load of wood some
time ago; a Mr. B--told me that he had sent them a quarter of lamb
and a bushel of apples. And I have, two or three times, furnished
one little matter and another. I'm sure what is given to them will
amount to half as much as Mr. Carroll's salary."
"This makes a difference, of course," is the satisfied answer. And
yet, all told, the presents received by the whole family, in useful
articles, has not reached the value of twenty-five dollars during
six months. And this has been more than abstracted from them by the
kind ladies of the parish, who must needs visit and take tea with
the minister as often as convenient.
Six months had passed since the Rev. Mr. Carroll removed to Y--.
It was mid-winter; and a stormy day closed in with as stormy a
night. The rays which came through the minister's little
study-window grew faint in the pervading shadows, and he could no
longer see with sufficient clearness to continue writing. So he went
down stairs to the room in which were his wife and children. The
oldest child was a daughter, six years of age, named Edith from her
mother. Edward, between three and four years old, and Aggy the baby,
made up the number of Mr. Carroll's household treasures. They were
all just of an age to require their mother's attention in every
thing. As her husband entered the room, Mrs. Carroll said--
"I'm glad you've come down, dear. I can't get Aggy out of my arms a
minute. It's nearly supper time, and I havn't been able even to put
the kettle on the fire. She's very fretful."
Mr. Carroll took the baby. His wife threw a shawl over her head, and
taking an empty bucket from the dresser, was passing to the door,
when her husband said--
"Stop, stop, Edith! You musn't go for water in this storm. Here,
take the baby."
"I can go well enough," replied Mrs. Carroll, and before her husband
could prevent her, she was out in the blustering air, with the
snowflakes driving in her face.
"Oh, Edith! Edith! Why will you do so?" said her husband, as soon as
she came back.
"It's as easy for me to go as for you," she replied.
"No it isn't, Edith. I am strong to what you are. If you expose
yourself in this way, it will be the death of you."
Mrs. Carroll shook the snow from her shawl and dress, and brushed it
from her shoes, saying as she did so--
"Oh no! a little matter like this won't hurt me."
She then filled the tea-kettle and placed it over the fire. After
which she set out the table, and busied herself in getting ready
their evening meal. Meanwhile, Mr. Carroll walked the floor with
Aggy in his arms, both looking and feeling serious; while the two
older children amused themselves with a picture book.
As the reader has probably anticipated, the "living" (?) at
Y--proved altogether inadequate to the wants of Mr. Carroll's
family; and faith, confidence, and an abstract trust in Providence
by no means sufficed for its increase.
At first, Mrs. Carroll had a servant girl to help her in her
household duties, as usual. But she soon found that this would not
do. A dollar and a quarter a week, and the cost of boarding the
girl, took just about one-third of their entire income. So, after
the first three months, "help" was dispensed with. The washing had
to be put out; which cost half a dollar, weekly. To get some one in
the house to iron, would cost as much more. So Mrs. Carroll took
upon herself the task of ironing all the clothes, in addition to the
entire work of the house and care of her three children.
For three months this hard labor was performed; but not without a
visible effect. The face of Mrs. Carroll grew thinner; her step lost
its lightness; and her voice its cheerful tone. All this her husband
saw, and saw with intense pain. But, there was no remedy. His income
was but three hundred dollars a year; and out of that small sum it
was impossible to pay one hundred for the wages and board of a girl,
and have enough left for the plainest food and clothing. There was,
therefore, no alternative. All that it was in his power to do, was
done by Mr. Carroll to lighten the heavy burdens under which his
wife was sinking; but it was only a little, in reality, that he
could do; and he was doomed to see her daily wasting away, and her
strength departing from her.
At the time we have introduced them, Mrs. Carroll had begun to show
some symptoms of failing health, that alarmed her husband seriously.
She had taken cold, which was followed by a dry, fatiguing cough,
and a more than usual prostration of strength. On coming in with her
bucket of water from the well, as just mentioned, she did not take
off her shoes, and brush away the snow that had been pressed in
around the tops against her stockings, but suffered it to lie there
and melt, thus wetting her feet. It was nearly an hour from the time
Mr. Carroll came down from his room, before supper was ready. Aggy
was, by this time, asleep; so that the mother could pour out the tea
without having, as was usually the case, to hold the baby in her
arms.
"Ain't you going to eat anything?" asked Mr. Carroll, seeing that
his wife, whose face looked flushed, only sipped a little tea.
"I don't feel any appetite," replied Mrs. Carroll.
"But you'd better try to eat something, dear."
Just then there was a knock at the door. On opening it, Mr. Carroll
found a messenger with a request for him to go and see a parishioner
who was ill.
"You can't go away there in this storm," said his wife, as soon as
the messenger had retired.
"It's full a mile off."
"I must go, Edith," replied the minister. "If the distance were many
miles instead of one, it would be all the same. Duty calls."
And out into the driving storm the minister went, and toiled on his
lonely way through the deep snow to reach the bedside of a suffering
fellow man, who sought spiritual consolation in the hour of
sickness, from one whose temporal wants he had, while in health,
shown but little inclination to supply. That consolation offered, he
turned his face homeward again, and again breasted the unabated
storm. He found his wife in bed--something unusual for her at ten
o'clock--and, on laying his hand upon her face, discovered that she
was in a high fever. In alarm, he went for the doctor, who declined
going out, but sent medicine, and promised to come over in the
morning.
In the morning Mrs. Carroll was much worse, and unable to rise. To
dress the children and get breakfast, Mr. Carroll found to be tasks
of no very easy performance for him; and as soon as they were
completed, he called in a neighbor to stay with his wife while he
went in search of some one to come and take her place in the family
until she was able to go about again as usual.
That time, however, did not soon come. Weeks passed before she could
even sit up, and then she was so susceptible of cold, that even the
slightest draft of air into the room affected her; and so weak,
that, in attempting to mend a garment for one of her children, the
exertion caused her to faint away.
When Mrs. Carroll was taken sick, they had only fifteen dollars of
their quarter's salary left. It was but two weeks since they had
received it, yet nearly all was gone, for twenty-five dollars,
borrowed to meet expenses during the last month of the quarter, had
to be paid according to promise: shoes for nearly every member of
the family had to be purchased, besides warmer clothing for
themselves and children; and several little bills unavoidably
contracted, had to be settled. The extra expense of sickness, added
to the regular demand, soon melted away the trifling balance, and
Mr. Carroll found himself, with his wife still unable to leave her
room--in fact, scarcely able to sit up--penniless and almost
hopeless.--His faith had grown weak--his confidence was gone--his
spirits were broken. Daily he prayed for strength to bear up; for a
higher trust in Providence; for light upon his dark pathway.--But no
strength came, no confidence was created, no light shone upon his
way. And for this we need not wonder. It was no day of miracles, as
his wife had forewarned him. He had, as too many do, hoped for
sustenance in a field of labor where reason could find no
well-grounded hope. He knew that he could not live on three hundred
a year; yet he had accepted the offer, in the vain hope that all
would come out well!
The last shilling left the hand of the unhappy minister, and at
least six weeks remained before another quarter's salary became due.
He could not let his family starve; so, after much thought, he
finally determined to call the vestry together, frankly state his
case, and tell his brethren that it was impossible for him to live
on the small sum they allowed.
A graver meeting of the vestry of Y--parish had not for a long
time taken place. As for an increase of salary, that was declared to
be out of the question entirely. They had never paid any one over
three hundred dollars, which, with the parsonage, had always been
considered a very liberal compensation. They were very sorry for Mr.
Carroll, and would advance him a quarter's salary. But all increase
was out of the question. They knew the people would not hear to it.
The meeting then broke up, and the official members of the church
walked gravely away, while Mr. Carroll went home, feeling so sad and
dispirited, that he almost wished that he could die.
The Parish of Y--was not rich; though six hundred dollars could
have been paid to a minister with as little inconvenience to the
members as three hundred. But the latter sum was considered ample;
and much surprise was manifested when it was found that the new
minister asked for an increase, even before the first year of his
engagement had expired.
The face of his wife had never looked so pale, her cheeks so thin,
nor her eyes so sunken, to the minister, as when he came home from
this mortifying and disheartening meeting of the vestry. One of
those present was the very person he had gone a mile to visit on the
night of the snow-storm; and he had more to say that hurt him than
any of the rest.
"Edith," said Mr. Carroll, taking the thin hand of his wife, as he
sat down by her and looked sadly into her face, "we must leave
here."
"Must we? Why?" she asked, without evincing very marked surprise.
"We cannot live on three hundred a year."
"Where will we go?"
"Heaven only knows! But we cannot remain here!"
And as the minister said this, he bowed his head until his face
rested upon the arm of his wife. He tried to hide his emotion, but
Edith knew that tears were upon the cheeks of her husband.
THE SEQUEL.
JUST one year has elapsed, since Mr. Carroll accepted the call from
Y--. It has been a year of trouble, ending in deep affliction.
When the health of Mrs. Carroll yielded under her too heavy burdens,
it did not come back again. Steadily she continued to sink, after
the first brief rallying of her system, until it became hopelessly
apparent that the time of her departure was near at hand. She was
too fragile a creature to be thrown into the position she occupied.
Inheriting a delicate constitution, and raised with even an unwise
tenderness, she was no more fitted to be a pastor's wife, with only
three hundred a year to live upon, than a summer flower is to take
the place of a hardy autumn plant. This her husband should have
known and taken into the account, before he decided to accept the
call from Y--.
When it was found that Mrs. Carroll, after partially recovering from
her first severe attack, began, gradually to sink; a strong interest
in her favor was awakened among the ladies of the congregation, and
they showed her many kind attentions. But all these attentions, and
all this kindness, did not touch the radical disability under which
she was suffering. They did not remove her too heavy weight of care
and labor. All the help in her family that she felt justified in
employing, was a girl between fourteen and fifteen years of age, and
this left so much for her to do in the care of her children, and in
necessary household duties that she suffered all the time from
extreme physical exhaustion.
In the just conviction of the error he had committed, and while he
felt the hopelessness of his condition, Mr. Carroll, as has been
seen, resolved to leave Y--immediately. This design he hinted to
one of the members of his church.
"You engaged with us for a year, did you not?" enquired the member.
That settled the question in the mind of the unhappy minister. He
said no more to any one on the subject of his income, or about
leaving the parish. But his mind was made up not to remain a single
day, after his contract had expired. If in debt at the time, as he
knew he must be, he would free himself from the incumbrances by
selling a part of his household furniture. Meantime his liveliest
fears were aroused for his wife, as symptom after symptom of a rapid
decline, showed themselves. That he did not preach as good sermons,
nor visit as freely among his parishioners during the last three
months of the time he remained at Y--, is no matter of surprise.
Some, more considerate than the rest, excused him; but others
complained, even to the minister himself. No matter. Mr. Carroll had
too much at home to fill his heart to leave room for a troubled
pulsation on this account. He was conscience-clear on the score of
obligation to his parishioners.
At last, and this before the year had come to its close, the
drooping wife and mother took to her bed, never again to leave it
until carried forth by the mourners. We will not pain the reader by
any details of the affecting scenes attendant upon the last few
weeks of her mortal life; nor take him to the bed-side of the dying
one, in the hour that she passed away. To state the fact that she
died, is enough--and painful enough.
For all this, it did not occur to the people of Y--that, in
anything they had been lacking. They had never given but three
hundred a year to a minister, and, as a matter of course, considered
the sum as much as a reasonable man could expect. As for keeping a
clergyman in luxury, and permitting him to get rich; they did not
think it consistent with the office he held, which required
self-denial and a renouncing of the world. As to how he could live
on so small a sum, that was a question rarely asked; and when
presented, was put to rest by some backhanded kind of an answer,
that left the matter as much in the dark as ever.
Notwithstanding the deep waters of affliction through which Mr.
Carroll was required to pass, his Sabbath duties were but once
omitted, and that on the day after he had looked for the last time
upon the face of his lost one. Four Sabbaths more he preached, and
then, in accordance with notice a short time previously given,
resigned his pastoral charge. There were many to urge him with great
earnestness not to leave them; but a year's experience enabled him
to see clearer than he did before, and to act with greater decision.
In the hope of retaining him, the vestry strained a point, and
offered to make the salary three hundred and fifty dollars. But much
to their surprise, the liberal offer was refused.
It happened that the Bishop of the Diocese came to visit Y--a week
before Mr. Carroll intended taking his departure with his motherless
children, for his old home, where a church had been offered him in
connexion with a school. To him, three or four prominent members of
the church complained that the minister was mercenary, and looked
more to the loaves and fishes than to the duty of saving souls.
"Mercenary!" said the Bishop, with a strong expression of surprise.
"Yes, mercenary," repeated his accusers.
"So far from it," said the Bishop, warmly, "he has paid more during
the year, for supporting the Gospel in Y--, than any five men in
the parish put together."
"Mr. Carroll has!"
"How much do you give?" addressing one.
"I pay ten dollars pew rent, and give ten extra, besides," was the
answer.
"And you," speaking to another.
"The same."
"And you?"
"Thirty dollars, in all."
"While," said the Bishop, speaking with increased warmth, "your
minister gave two hundred dollars."
This, of course, took them greatly by surprise, and they asked for
an explanation. "It is given in a few words," returned the Bishop.
"It cost him, though living in the most frugal manner, five hundred
dollars for the year. Of this, you paid three hundred, and he two
hundred dollars."
"I don't understand you, Bishop," said one.
"Plainly, then; he was in debt at the end of the year, two hundred
dollars, for articles necessary for the health and comfort of his
family, to pay which he has sold a large part of his furniture. He
was not working for himself, but for you, and, therefore, actually
paid two hundred dollars for the support of the Gospel in Y--,
while you paid but twenty or thirty dollars apiece. Under these
circumstances, my friends, be assured that the charge of being
mercenary, comes with an exceeding bad grace. Nor is this all that
he has sacrificed. An insufficient income threw upon his wife,
duties beyond her strength to bear; and she sunk under them. Had you
stepped forward in time, and lightened these duties by a simple act
of justice, she night still be living to bless her husband and
children!--Three hundred a year for a man with a wife and three
children, is not enough; and you know it, my brethren! Not one of
you could live on less than double the sum."
This rebuke came with a stunning force upon the ears of men who had
expected the Bishop to agree with them in their complaint, and had
its effect. On the day Mr. Carroll left the village, he received a
kind and sympathetic letter from the official members of the church
enclosing the sum of two hundred dollars. The first impulse of his
natural feelings was to return the enclosure, but reflection showed
him that such an act would be wrong; and so he retained it, after
such acknowledgments as he deemed the occasion required.
Back to his old home the minister went, but with feelings, how
different, alas! from those he had experienced on leaving for Y--.
The people among whom he had labored for a year, felt as if they had
amply paid him for all the service he had rendered; in fact had
overpaid him, as if money, doled out grudgingly, could compensate
for all he had sacrificed and suffered, in his effort to break for
them the Bread of Life.
Here is one of the phases of ministerial life, presented with little
ornament or attractiveness. There are many other phases, more
pleasant to look upon, and far more flattering to the good opinion
we are all inclined to entertain of ourselves. But it is not always
best to look upon the fairest side. The cold reality of things, it
is needful that we should sometimes see. The parish of Y--, does
not, by any means, stand alone. And Mr. Carroll is not, the only man
who has suffered wrong from the hands of those who called him to
minister in spiritual things, yet neglected duly to provide for the
natural and necessary wants of the body.
-THE END-
T S Arthur's short story: Three Hundred A Year
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